


French Kiss

by darkavengerz (darkavenger)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Bad French, For Science!, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2246595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkavenger/pseuds/darkavengerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Doctor Nemesis snorts at that inelegantly. “Something special? Are you delusional? Just because I happened to make an objective comment on your markmanship -”</p><p>“You called me the best,” Fantomex interjects, with deep satisfaction.</p><p>“- because in that particular area, yes, you are,” Doctor Nemesis continues, narrowing his eyes. “In other areas, -”</p><p>“Say it again,” Fantomex says suddenly, stepping yet closer to Doctor Nemesis. His eyes (blue, Doctor Nemesis notes, very blue, in the clinical part of his mind still able to make observations) are intense, pupils blown. Fantomex is… unstable at the best of times. In the spirit of self-preservation, Doctor Nemesis decides to humour him (and there’s a part of him that insists, sees this as any other experiment, where repeatability is reliability, and will Fantomex respond the same way the second time?) “You’re the best at -” he begins, guardedly, but Fantomex presses a gloved hand over his mouth before he can finish.</p><p>“No need to qualify, Doctor,” Fantomex all but purrs, suddenly very close indeed. “I am the best, the very best, c’est vrai.” '</p>
            </blockquote>





	French Kiss

“What are you doing?”

Doctor Nemesis didn’t bother to hide his irritation as he lifted his gaze from the petri dish he’d been examining under the microscope. Fantomex lounged insouciantly in the doorway to his lab. Insouciance. French, of course, in origin. It was the word he most associated with Fantomex, he noted with vexation. The man wasn’t even French! It was ridiculous, as ridiculous as the fake french accent the man affected. “I’m busy. Working. On things your poor excuse for a brain could never hope to comprehend.”

Abrasive is probably the word Doctor Nemesis would best use to describe himself. It’s purposeful. An attitude he’s cultivated with as much dedication as any strand of bacteria for his latest bioweapon. After all, when you’re as good as he is at what he does, you don’t have to worry so much about having good people skills.

“Oh but doctor,” Fantomex says, with a sly shake of his head, “you forget. I am the best, non?” He crosses the floor with predatory grace, to stand rather closer to Doctor Nemesis than is customary. “Perhaps I can be of… assistance?”

“I doubt that,” Doctor Nemesis says with a sneer.

“My offer extends to more than lab work, Doctor,” Fantomex says, and from the way the skin at the corners of his eyes creases, Doctor Nemesis can tell he’s smiling under the mask. It seems strange that someone as arrogant and frankly flirtatious as Fantomex would bother to conceal his appearance. Then again, everyone has their little eccentricities. He’s hardly one to talk after all. Fantomex places his hand with deliberation onto his, ignoring the close proximity to the petri dish. A dangerous disregard for lab safety, Doctor Nemesis notes with vague disdain.

“I figured as much,” he says drily, pulling his hand away. “I am a genius after all. Do credit me with enough intelligence to recognise a proposition when I hear one. I am simply uninterested.”

He tries to focus once more on the problem at hand, the ever-fascinating puzzle of polypeptides and proteins, the cerebral challenge his current puzzle presents. Unfortunately, today, his mind seems focused on… baser aspects of biology.

And again, unfortunately, Fantomex is more persistent than the average human, and his own unfriendly demeanour is insufficient protection against his wiles. Fantomex continues to invade Doctor Nemesis’s personal space, though his eyes do widen with indignation. “Uninterested? Doctor you wound me, I thought we shared something special.”

Doctor Nemesis snorts at that inelegantly. “Something special? Are you delusional? Just because I happened to make an objective comment on your markmanship -”

“You called me the best,” Fantomex interjects, with deep satisfaction.

“- because in that particular area, yes, you are,” Doctor Nemesis continues, narrowing his eyes. “In other areas, -”

“Say it again,” Fantomex says suddenly, stepping yet closer to Doctor Nemesis. His eyes (blue, Doctor Nemesis notes, very blue, in the clinical part of his mind still able to make observations) are intense, pupils blown. Fantomex is… unstable at the best of times. In the spirit of self-preservation, Doctor Nemesis decides to humour him (and there’s a part of him that insists, sees this as any other experiment, where repeatability is reliability, and will Fantomex respond the same way the second time?) “You’re the best at -” he begins, guardedly, but Fantomex presses a gloved hand over his mouth before he can finish.

“No need to qualify, Doctor,” Fantomex all but purrs, suddenly very close indeed. “I am the best, the very best, c’est vrai.” Suddenly his fingers are pulling at Doctor Nemesis’s mask, pulling it down and angling his chin as Fantomex kisses him yet again. The kiss is deep, passionate, that of an experienced romancer, but Doctor Nemesis himself is no novice. It’s an artful kiss, certainly, but not anything novel.

Doctor Nemesis is less startled this time round. The element of surprise is gone, allowing him to respond. He kisses Fantomex back, lets the other man push him back against the table, press against him. Fantomex moves with assurance, kissing him like he has something to prove. He breaks away, says breathlessly, “See, Doctor, the very best.”

“Hmph,” Doctor Nemesis says, struggling to hold onto his frosty detachment. “Not bad I suppose.”

“Not bad?” Fantomex’s eyes glint in challenge.

“I’ve had better,” Doctor Nemesis says, watching the faint flinch. Fantomex is very unpredictable in some ways, but not in this way. It’s psychological manipulation, which is unethical, but he’s not that kind of doctor. “And you’re getting my latest experiment all over you, by the way. It’s somewhat toxic.”

Fantomex curses, finally noticing that his glove is trailing in the petri-dish, and quickly pulls off his glove. The bare, exposed skin of his hand is unmarred, which discounts some of the theories that abound around Fantomex’s aversion to being unmasked. “You wound me, Doctor,” he says, petulantly.

Doctor Nemesis can’t hide his smirk, mask still pulled down. He misses the concealment it normally allows him, the clinical distance. Fantomex’s own mouth is exposed, pale and sensually full lips, but the exposure doesn’t seem to inconvenience the other man, rather works to his advantage. “I suppose you’ll have to prove me wrong.”

Fantomex’s eyes light up, and Doctor Nemesis feels a stab of satisfaction. Fantomex isn’t completely dense, after all. “I suppose I will.” He kisses Doctor Nemesis again, and he might be arrogant, but it’s not completely baseless arrogance. “How’s that?”

“Not… bad…” Doctor Nemesis says, somewhat breathless. He’s finding it hard to remain objective. Part of him wants to tell Fantomex everything the other man wants to hear, if only so he’ll kiss him again. “Your technique is very good, you have adapted your technique -”

“You’re being far too logical,” Fantomex says, eyes intense. It’s somewhat disconcerting to have all that attention focused on him, Doctor Nemesis finds, the hot and heady feeling of someone paying complete attention to every word, every movement. “I’ll have to do something about that.”

Before Doctor Nemesis can respond, Fantomex is kissing him again, is pressing against him, is running his hands along Doctor Nemesis’ sides, slipping under clothes to press against bare flesh. There’s a sudden, fleeting pain as Fantomex bites at his lips, almost chidingly, grabbing his attention, before soothing it better. “How’s that?” Fantomex says, pulling back.

“I think it will require further investigation,” Doctor Nemesis says, reflexively licking his lips. He doesn’t miss the hunger in Fantomex’s eyes at the gesture. Whatever this is, it’s not entirely just about proving somethinag.

“That can be arranged,” Fantomex says pleasantly, hands still distractingly stroking over Doctor Nemesis’s skin.

“I have work to do,” Doctor Nemesis objects, half-heartedly. The sample he’d been working on has been doubtlessly contaminated by the accidental intrusion of Fantomex’s glove. He could fix it, but he finds, for once, he’s not in the mood.

“It can wait,” Fantomex replies, eyes hooded seductively.

“I suppose it can…”


End file.
